Skinny Jeans
A New Year’s Resolution Gone Bad
While taking down the holiday decorations I tripped over my daughter’s mountain of new Barbie doll clothes. As I removed what I soon realized were a pair of skinny jeans from underneath my right heel a thought crossed my mind. “I used to have skinny jeans.”
I must have said that last part out loud because my son actually looked up from his DS, “I bet if you started exercising again you would get back into them! I can start walking with you if you want. I could stand to lose a few pounds myself,” said my 10-year-old boy with a 50-something-year-old soul.
And just like that my son and I hopped on the lose weight and exercise New Year’s resolutions bandwagon.
DAY ONE:
I have a new heart rate/pedometer watch on my wrist and am laced into special $100 fancy footgear, that promise to shape up my gluteus maximus. In other words … I am ready to go! As I bend down to attempt a pre-walk stretch, through my legs I see my son lounging on the couch remote in hand. I eventually straighten up, have I mentioned that it has been a long time since I’ve exercised, and step in front of the TV. “I thought we were going walking?” I say a little too whinny. “Oh yeah about that, I was thinking tomorrow might be a better day for me to start walking with you. But please don’t let that stop you from going.”
I guess I was standing there a little too long, probably with my mouth wide open, because then the child whom I endured 14 hours of labor in order to bring him into this world says, “Mom, can you move over? You’re blocking the TV.” I moved over.
DAY TWO:
For some crazy reason I decided to give up coffee so I am cranky and caffeine-deprived but still gung-ho about walking. I lace up my still shiny and white athletic shoes and once again call out to my son that I am ready. “Mom, I had Taekwando today, I’m tired. Why don’t you go and you can tell me all about it when you get back.”
DAY THREE:
Determined to have my son join me, I no longer ask, I TELL HIM! “Listen here mister, this was your idea… you are going to go walk with me and you will wear a smile while doing it!” Then I put my now off white tennis shoes on and drag the boy outside. We get a block away when my son shoots me a maniacal clown type grin and says, “I have to pee.”
DAY FOUR:
My son sees my hungry, no-coffee crazed face and decides it is in his best interest to go walking without me having to beg him. I slip on my ivory kicks and together we head out the door. For 15 minutes we walk and talk. Wow, I am exercising and bonding with my child! And then as if the Weight Loss Gods were laughing at me, my son somehow manages to trip over his own feet and goes sailing head over heals skidding onto the pavement below. I carry my whimpering bloody-knee son, whom I realize really could stand to lose a few pounds, back home.
DAY FIVE:
I look at my now blood stained dirty sneakers. The tongue is sticking out. They’re mocking me? I’ll teach them. I lace them up then grab my wallet and keys and call out for my son. I drive us to the neighborhood pizza parlor where the two of us do some serious damage on a large deep crust with extra sauce.
In between bites my sweet boy says to me, “I like you better fluffy!” I say nothing. After all it is not polite to talk with your mouth full.
Sharon Fuentes is a mom and freelance writer. Read her blog at www.blog.mamasturnnow.com
